Neutral Milk Hotel – ‘In the Aeroplane Over the Sea’
It wasn’t supposed to be anything special. When Neutral Milk Hotel released their 1998 sophomore album, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, it was just going to be another album that arose from the nebulous group of musicians known as The Elephant 6 Collective. At first, that’s exactly what it was: a modest critical and commercial success that soon faded away once singer-songwriter Jeff Mangum made it clear that he didn’t want to have anything more to do with the music industry.
Then something strange happened. People began listening to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea over and over again. Fans started to parse over every word within the album’s lyrics for some clue as to who was behind the genius/madness. The lack of a reply only made interest in the album grow exponentially. By the end of the 2000s, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea had become one of the most acclaimed and buzzed-about albums in the history of indie rock, inspiring scores of bands and artists to take its haunted carnival sounds and incorporate them into the next generation of music.
It’s not hard to see why there’s still a major cult around In the Aeroplane Over the Sea: it’s one of the most singular, engrossing, strange, and sonically unique albums to ever be released. Neutral Milk Hotel didn’t just make an album – they made a whole world to get lost in, but one that you could only inhabit for a short amount of time. 11 songs, 40 minutes, and two album sides were all that you could get. Hundreds of thousands of fans have been trying to extend that experience ever since.
Starting with a gentle and slightly distorted acoustic guitar strum that will become very familiar, the album’s first two (or three) songs set the stage for what’s to come expertly. ‘The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1’ details the surreal fights between parents that involve garbage and forks going into shoulders. Meanwhile, the kids try to explore their bodies in any possible way to escape. It might seem bizarre and even offputting, but as an introduction to the themes and sounds that pervade In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, ‘The King Of Carrot Flowers’ is the perfect way to jump in with both feet.
And then comes the album’s first curveball. As the haunting tones of ‘The King of Carrot Flowers, Pts. 2 & 3’ come floating in, Mangum hits his audience with a religious revelation: “I love you, Jesus Christ”. What the fuck? Is this now a Christian music album? In his iconic nasally tone, Mangum continues to repeat his love for Jesus as the song begins to gain momentum. Soon, everything begins spinning out of control: French horns, singing saws, and punk drums pick up speed and spiral into a vortex of noise. All of sudden, everything explodes into a manic deluge of chaos that only comes to a stop when Mangum lets out an affirmative “OK”. In just five minutes, all three parts of ‘The King of Carrot Flowers’ plunge you headfirst into the incredible world that Mangum and his bandmates have crafted around themselves.
Let’s get this out of the way, so we don’t have to dwell on it: yes, Anne Frank plays prominently in the inspiration, execution, and legacy of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Mangum’s haunted dreams of seeing the historical Holocaust victim are usually credited as being the creative spark that made the album happen. Mangum either directly references or alludes to Frank in the lyrics to ‘In the Aeroplane Over the Sea’, ‘Holland, 1945’, ‘Oh, Comely’ and ‘Ghost’. Even when she’s not mentioned by name, Frank’s presence hangs over songs like ‘Two-Headed Boy’ and ‘Communist Daughter’ in ways both sweet and sickly.
But In the Aeroplane Over the Sea isn’t about Anne Frank. It’s about lost innocence and wanting to save that inner child that lives inside everyone. In its own unique way, the album takes Frank’s tragic story and applies it to anyone who has had their vibrancy and youthful outlook dulled through years of work, hardship, or simple age. When people call In the Aeroplane Over the Sea a record out of time, it’s not because Mangum wants to hop in a time machine and save Anne Frank. It’s because he’s trying to escape whatever was laid out in front of him at the time. Unfortunately, the album itself soon became the thing that Mangum felt he needed to escape from.
Back within the walls of the album, Mangum has some help bringing his singular visions to life. There’s Scott Spillane, who relearned a number of horn instruments in order to flesh out the triumphant marching band blasts that fill out the album’s melodies. Over on rhythm, Jeremy Barns adds an aggressive edge by pounding his drums as hard as he possibly can. Julian Koster can’t seem to sit still, picking up banjos and accordions when he’s not making white noise collages. But Koster’s haunting singing saw is his most memorable contribution to the arrangements.
Everything from punk-style fuzz bass to Scottish uilleann pipes to a Casio tone dubbed the “zanzithophone” make their way into the album’s arrangements. Too often, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea gets reduced to being Magnum’s opus and definitive statement. But in ways both obvious and subtle, the album is the product of a full band, with creative decisions and musical ideas being thrown into the mix by all members of the group – even some from outside the group, like producer and Elephant 6 mastermind Robert Schneider, who conceived of the extreme compression that gives the album it’s distinctive lo-fi crunch.
But as the band’s leader and main creative force, Mangum becomes the centre of attention quickly. His long-held notes in ‘Two-Headed Boy’ sound almost childlike. So, too, do his whispered tones in ‘Communist Daughter’. For the album’s eight-minute epic ‘Oh, Comely’, Mangum unleashes his most potent dose of surrealism, with familiar images like gardens and pickled fetuses rubbing elbows with ugly friends and fat fleshy fingers. When Mangum ends his epic tale of naivety and revulsion, someone in the control room can’t help but holler “Holy shit!” at Mangum’s one-take performance.
With a final electronic-infused untitled instrumental, Mangum brings the album full circle with a song that seems to summarise all the insanity and beauty that was produced throughout the notes of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. With a final plea to “Daddy”, Mangum makes one last pass at preserving that inner child that he keeps searching for. Just as he seems to find it, the song makes a sudden turn back to the familiar tones of ‘Two-Headed Boy’, reprising the track and closing out the album with some whiplash-inducing closure. With that, Mangum audibly lays his guitar down, closing the book on In the Aeroplane Over the Sea and Neutral Milk Hotel for good.
Mangum and Neutral Milk Hotel might not have been built to last, but both will live forever within the grooves of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. In the years since its release, nearly every indie artist has taken important notes from Mangum and Neutral Milk Hotel. But none have been able to conjure up the same stupefying, enthralling, revoting, highly passionate, and otherworldly music that Neutral Milk Hotel made.
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea remains timeless and strangely universal, tapping into the frightened child hidden within every adult human being. It’s a journey that demands return visits if just to hear all of the singular elements of the record one more time. It’s a jewel of an album, pure and unaffecting by the dulling of time and trends. Just like a golden memory, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea will always be there, waiting for you whenever you need it.
